


You Posted What? [DISCONTINUED]

by thegreatestsun



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, How Do I Tag, I love how thats an actual tag, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, My First Fanfic, Oh Jon and Damian are like the same age here or the age difference is slightly smaller, Okay so ages are a bit ambigious here, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake-centric, Tim starts an incorrect quotes blog. and it gets really popular, and they're like slightly older, but in general their ages are similar to what you'd expect, its not important or relevent to the plot or anything but its there, oh yeah plot, okay so, shenanigans ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatestsun/pseuds/thegreatestsun
Summary: Tim Drake has a weird family. And a weird family leads to quite a few unexplainable quotes, even with context. Texting his boyfriend about them is all well and good, but the world deserves to see this mastery of bizarre-ness.So, he starts an incorrect quotes blog for Gotham's vigilantes. This can't possibly end badly!... can it?----Tim starts an incorrect quotes blog, but all of the quotes are 100% real. Shenanigans ensue.(EDIT: This fic has been discontinued. Sorry!)
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 49
Kudos: 568





	1. Tim Has An Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> This is my first fanfiction, like, ever. I was really nervous about posting this but luckily my best friend said to write it, or I was a coward. Thank you, Crow. 
> 
> If you have any critisicism or feedback, please let me know in the comments~

Tim Drake hardly considered himself a genius. Sure, he thought he was kinda smart, at least, but occasionally; he’d have a truly amazing idea. 

He was going to start an incorrect quotes blog. For his own family. 

But let’s back up a little, shall we? Let’s skip back to about two weeks ago, when the scenario that inspired our Timothy in the first place, actually happened.

It was a Thursday night, fairly warm, and unreasonably quiet. For some reason, Bruce had insisted that Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and the smaller, less important Robin (Tim’s words, he’ll admit) had all needed to be on patrol that night. Despite the fact that there was no one causing trouble that night, save for a couple muggers.   
But they were dealt with quickly, so quickly Tim barely registered that they’d started fighting them in the first place, and then they were done. He was sleep deprived, okay?

So, what do you do? When you and your three vigilante hero brothers need something to do before Bruce would let them back inside – because ‘needing coffee’ apparently wasn’t a valid excuse – you simply must be entertained, for fear of insanity via boredom.

But for the life of him, Tim couldn’t figure out why a debate over who had the best costume, was the most entertaining thing they could all come up with, even when they were all sleep deprived. Or was that just Tim? Wait, when was the last time they all slept, again?

“No, you don’t understand,” Jason insisted, waving his gun in the air as he gestured wildly. “I clearly have the best costume, because I’m the only one that doesn’t look like a fucking idiot every time they step outside!” he continued, sending a pointed look at Tim and Dick as best he could from his helmet.

The four of them were all standing on the roof of some random apartment block for this debate, as it was clearly so important that it deserved its own location. Jason was walking around the roof and gesticulating wildly, Dick was sat on the ground, back against some old crate that’d been left up here. Tim was sat on top of said crate, legs crossed. Damian was crouched on the edge of the roof, because he apparently needed to feel edgy all the time. 

Teenagers, eh?

Dick shrugged at Jason’s comment. “I disagree, strongly.” He said simply. 

“Care to elaborate?” Tim asked blearily. He was tired, okay? He really just wanted a damn coffee, but no one had thought to bring their damn wallets. Billionaires, actual billionaires, and yet Tim still couldn’t get a damn coffee. 

“Jason, my dear brother,” Dick began, which earned him a dramatic eye-roll from said dear brother, “your costume is shit. There’s no…” he waved his hand in the air. “No… ah, fuck, what’s the word?”

“Style?” Tim suggested, running a gloved hand down his face, dragging his hair across his eyes. Fuck, he needed some caffeine. He was well aware he was a very stereotypical insomniac at the moment, but he was an addict; dammit, and he had needs.

“Creativity?” Damian offered flatly. 

“Pizzazz!” Dick announced suddenly. “Yes, pizzazz. You, Jason Todd, have no pizzazz.” He stated seriously, clicking his fingers. 

Jason dropped his arms to his sides, placed his gun back in the holster on his thigh, and looked up to the sky. “Literally, how? How do I not have –” he held his hands up, and made air quotes around the word, “pizzazz,” he dropped his hands and quickly folded his arms. “Grayson? Go on – enlighten me!”

Dick raised an eyebrow, the mask plastered to his face moving with it. “Oh, it’s fairly simple. You’re wearing jeans.” 

“Oh!” Jason said sharply. “And what is wrong with jeans?! And they aren’t boring, Dick; I have fucking belts! Belts around my thighs!”

Damian jumped from his place on the roof, and quickly walked towards Jason, and squatted next to where he was standing, to get a better look. He rested his hand on his chin, and frowned. “Aren’t they called holsters?” 

Jason raised his hand, one finger pointing at his younger brother, about to say something. But then he paused, thought about it, and dropped his hand.   
“You… you are correct. I’m fairly sure.” Jason said. Tim swore he could hear the confused frown in his voice. Or he was really, really tired, and could now hear his imagination. 

“Well, say what you like.” Tim said groggily. “I think Dami got the best deal with the Robin costume.” 

Damian stood up properly at that. “It is a uniform, not a costume, Drake.” He corrected sharply. “And why do you think that?” 

Tim shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, you got a lot less stupidly bright colours than these two,” he stuck out his index and middle fingers, and swung them back and forth between the older two. “But yours actually has a colour that isn’t just red.” 

Dick frowned at that. “You haven’t exactly abandoned the whole red thing, Timmy. I’d say you got the best deal, actually.” 

“I look good in red.” He defended half-heartedly, not registering the last part. God, he was gonna have to text Conner about this. His boyfriend would agree with him. Maybe. Who knows, it was past midnight already, and Tim hadn’t slept since Wednesday. 

“As much as it pains me.” Damian said, sounding bored, but also simultaneously in mild pain, “I agree with Grayson. Drake had the best uniform as Robin.”  
Jason nodded. “Yeah, the gremlin is right.” That earnt an undignified squawk from Damian, which was promptly ignored by everyone else. “Tim got the best colour scheme.”  
Tim blinked. Had he just fallen asleep for a second? “Uh, why’s that?”

“You didn’t have any green.” Damian stated flatly. “Highly preferable for stealth. But green also looks fucking stupid.”

There was a chorus of mock-gasps from Jason and Dick. “Damian Gerald Wayne!” Jason cried out in a stupidly high falsetto. “Do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth!?”   
Damian shot an annoyed glare at Jason. “I don’t have a middle name, Todd, or a boyfriend.”

“Now, now, Damian.” Dick said in his ‘dad voice’, which was really just his normal voice, just an octave lower, “We all know about your relationship with the Kent boy –”  
“Shut up, Grayson, or I’ll slice your face off.” Damian said through gritted teeth, which only spurred on the other two’s laughter.

“God, I hope you don’t have a relationship with Jon.” Tim said, accidentally returning the attention to himself. “I mean, come on, Jon is a lovely guy, but he’s my boyfriend’s little brother. And you’re my brother. That’s just weird.” 

Jason snorted from under the helmet. “Oh, wow, bit of a forbidden romance, then!” he joked, poking Damian in the arm.

Tim didn’t want to laugh at the expression on his face, he really didn’t, but Damian really looked furious, and… 

Tim laughed. Damian’s murderous glare was now turned to him, but he could care less.

“It’s not forbidden, because there is no romance. Jon and I are good friends, and there’s nothing else to it.” Damian insisted, hand going to rest at the sword in his belt. 

“That’s what they all say.” Jason said knowingly, patting his brother’s arm. “But there is something that we should be discussing.” He added, his voice suddenly serious. He put both his hands on Damian’s shoulders, and knelt down in front of him. Damian looked increasingly uncomfortable, and Dick was clearly struggling to supress his laughter.  
“Damian Jeremiah Wayne. Why do you hate green so fucking much?” he asked, still completely serious. 

Damian looked ready to kill. “Again, I don’t have a middle name. And I dislike green because green is the worst colour.”

“That answers absolutely nothing.” Dick commented. “Why is green the worst colour?”

Damian shrugged, pulling Jason’s hands off of him. “I don’t know, I just don’t like it. It’s a fucking ugly colour, and as much as it pains me to say, I am envious of Drake receiving a Robin uniform with no green.”

“Swear jar.” Tim added quietly. “But as clearly amazing as my costume – sorry, uniform – was, we all had one very unfortunate similarity, I must admit.”

The three of them waited with bated breath as Tim trailed off. Oh, they wanted him to continue. “The yellow. All of the yellow.”

There was a shared groan of frustration from all three of Tim’s brothers. Well – Dick and Jason groaned loudly, Damian just tutted and nodded his head in agreement.   
“Yes, the yellow.” Dick agreed. “Worst colour for stealth. Like, with the green, you can blend in with like trees at night –”

“Can you though?” Damian rebutted, going back to his original position on the edge. 

“You can, I’ve done it before,” Dick argued. “And the red blends in with darkness really well, so I get the red, but why the yellow?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, actually. Why did we have yellow? Along with the red and green, we just looked like a bunch of fruit salads.” Wait, fruit salad? Why did he…? Okay, he didn’t even need coffee anymore, he needed sleep. The second he got back to the manor, he was collapsing onto the nearest soft surface, and passing the fuck out. If he could, that was. If not, he’d just down five mugs of coffee and get started on that report for Commissioner Gordon. Or he’d scroll through Tumblr for an hour. 

Oh yeah. Why had he referred to them all as fruit salads again?

There was a brief, confused silence. 

“Fruit salads?” Damian said with a confused frown. 

Jason shook his head. “You know, I think Tim is normal, for like, two minutes, and then he does this.” 

“Shut up, strawberry.” Tim shot back. 

That earnt him a splutter of laughter from Dick, and a slight smile from Damian. High praise, extremely high praise. Tim reckoned they were all incredibly sleep deprived, and that was why they were all laughing at his incredibly unfunny joke. Was it even a joke? Who cared? Like that weird triangle guy from Gravity Falls said, ‘Time is an illusion, reality is a hologram’. 

“Oh, wow, calling me a strawberry because I’m wearing red. Very creative, Timothy.” Jason stated flatly. “Let me guess, Dick is a blueberry, because he has blue on his costume?”

Tim yawned, stretching his arm out. It cracked a little, making him cringe. “Fuckin’ sure.”

“Damian is an orange.” Dick announced. 

“Uh, how?” said ‘orange’ asked, looking more and more confused as the conversation continued. Tim would feel bad for the kid, but he also found a shuriken in his cereal the other morning, and still wasn’t entirely over it. 

“You’re small, annoying, like knives, and as a result, you remind me of the Annoying Orange.” Dick explained, like this was obvious information.

Tim spluttered with laughter. “You can’t just say that! That’s so cruel!” Jason was also laughing, to the point where he was doubled over, clutching his stomach. Damian was standing in the middle of this chaos, silently, looking extremely confused.

As the laughter died down, Damian asked the fated question. 

“Who is the Annoying Orange?” 

Jason gasped, genuinely gasped, and pulled out his phone – wait why did he bring that? He brought his phone and not his wallet? – and opened YouTube. “Damian, you are too young. You need to watch this.”

“Lemons!” Dick yelled, suddenly. Everyone jumped, almost simultaneously. 

“Really, Grayson?” Damian snapped.

“Sorry, I just realised.” Dick said quickly. “We all wore yellow as Robins. So, we’re lemons! We are lemons!”  
Tim blinked. “…Lemons?” 

Jason shook his head. “Well, I’m gonna show the gremlin the Annoying Orange now, so have fun with your lemons.” 

Dick sighed. “No, you don’t understand, we’d be lemons because –” 

Suddenly, Dick’s radio beeped. He took it from his belt and held it up to his ear. From the radio, Batman’s voice crackled out. 

“Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin, you’re free to end patrol now. Return Robin to the Batcave if he refuses to go willingly. Get some rest. Batman, over and out.” 

Damian tutted at that, like he were some old man. “Why must Father insist on treating me like a child?” 

“I hate to break it to you, Dami, but it’s because you are a child.” Dick commented dryly. “Come on, let’s get back. Tim, if I make you coffee when we’re back, you owe me.”

Tim nodded, standing up and jumping off his crate seat. “Deal. Only if I’m allowed to eat your cereal tomorrow.”

Dick mock-gasped. “You’d steal my Lucky Charms!?” 

Tim nodded as Jason began to walk to the edge of the roof, and turned around. He was preparing to take a running jump over to the next roof, because ‘self-preservation’ were two words that were not a part of Jason Todd’s vocabulary. 

“Yes. I would. And I will also beat you to the Batcave!” He stated, before copying Jason, and jumping across to the next roof. He could hear Dick’s agonized, and completely fake, gasp of shock and horror behind him as he ran. And his quiet 'oof' of pain as Damian elbowed him whilst chasing after Tim and Jason. 

The next hour or so passed in a blur. Tim got inside, had a mug of coffee, checked that Damian had eaten something, changed into pyjamas, had more coffee, and was now sprawled across his bed, with his laptop on his stomach, with his third cup in his hand. 

“Sleep is for the weak.” He whispered to himself as he scrolled through Tumblr. Why he had the damn thing, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he liked some stuff on there. Like this cute cartoon GIF of frogs, that was some excellent content. 

His phone, resting on the bedside table next to him, suddenly lit up. Tim put his coffee on the floor, and reached over to grab it. A text from Conner. He smiled as he opened it.

Conner: How was patrol babe! <3  
Tim: Hoe how did you know I just got back  
Conner: Ur active on tumblr  
Tim: Fair fair   
Tim: patrol was ok,, no one showed so we ended up talking abt our costumes the whole night  
Tim: and for some reason it led to me calling us fruit salads  
Tim: so the dildo said we’re all lemons   
Conner: dufhjdfghgfds DILDO  
Conner: Sounds like something youd see on an incorrect quotes blog sfghgfds  
Tim: …  
Tim: babe, ive just had a terrible idea


	2. Tim Starts A Blog and The Swear Jar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So, as I mentioned in the notes of the first chapter, and the tags, this is my first fanfiction... ever. I've written before this, but I've never really posted anything before, and I have been absolutely blown away by the response. I would like to say thank you for all the lovely kind words you've left and all of the kudos <3
> 
> I would like to issue a quick warning here - this chapter does involve the boys throwing things at one another at one point, and whilst it's all in good fun and no one gets hurt, I'm aware that this might be triggering for some people, so please, read with caution <3
> 
> Anyway, ON WITH THE FIC!

“I am telling you, Kon, this is the best idea I have ever had.” Tim insisted, hands flying over his keyboard as he picked out the blog’s colour scheme. Black and yellow, perfect. 

Conner laughed awkwardly over the phone, his voice crackling due to bad reception. “Are you sure about that, babe? Like, I support you fully, but I don’t think –”

“The real question here is if I include villains on this list.” Tim interrupted. He’d snuck in a fourth coffee when Conner hadn’t been paying attention, and was feeling a little jittery. 

Conner was silent for a moment, before sighing. “No, Tim, you shouldn’t. Do you really want to write about Scarecrow quoting TikTok?”

“Mm, valid point.” Tim agreed, holding his phone against his face with his shoulder. “No villains then.”

Tim was creating the blog as he and Conner spoke. It was two am, he’d had four cups of coffee in a row, and he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. He was not in a position to be making a decision like starting a blog about his family members, but it was on Tumblr, and as previously stated, Tim was not in an excellent state of mind. 

“So, our first quote is from the one and only, Nightwing, Gotham’s golden boy!” Tim announced to his boyfriend excitedly. 

“Is it the one about lemons?” Conner asked, voice flat with both deadpan and tiredness. Unlike his caffeine addict of a boyfriend, Conner ‘Kon-El’ Kent attempted to be responsible and not use anything to keep him awake. However, the effort was tarnished by the fact he was awake at two am in the first place.

“It’s the one about lemons!” Tim informed him happily. “I don’t think I’ll add context. Like completely on its own, that’ll be gold.”

Tim wasn’t exactly posting anything yet. At the moment, he was writing down potential posts. He was still deciding on a name for the blog, which he quickly informed his boyfriend of.

“You could just do something short and simple. What about, just, I don’t know, ‘incorrect Gotham’ or whatever?” Conner suggested unhelpfully.

Tim sighed, and shook his head – and then remembering that Conner couldn’t see him. Okay, maybe four coffees in a row was a bad idea. “No, babe, that’s definitely already taken. People on Tumblr will make an incorrect quotes blog for anything and everything.” 

There was a slight rustle from Conner’s end, and he said “Surely not everything.” Punctuating the end of his sentence with a long yawn. 

“No, trust me.” Tim insisted. “Everything. Absolutely everything. I found an incorrect quotes blog for a sitcom in the fifties that was cancelled after one season.” 

“Damn.” Conner commented quietly. “Any other ideas then?”

Tim instinctively reached out to the side for a mug of coffee, and found to his disappointment that there was nothing there. No, Drake, five cups was WAY TOO MUCH. “I was thinking something – WAIT!”

Conner laughed. “Let me guess, you just –”

“I just had an idea!” Tim announced quickly, before realising what Conner had said before he interrupted him. “Oh, I mean – yeah. Yeah, I did.” Tim said, feeling a little sheepish.

“Aw, aren’t you cute when you’re embarrassed.” Conner teased. 

“Aw, aren’t I cute when I explain my ideas?” Tim shot back quickly. Conner laughed again.

“Go on then.” He said, and Tim could hear the smile in Conner’s voice. “Explain your amazing idea.”

“Okay, so what about ‘totally correct Gotham heroes’ but all as one word?” Tim suggested, testing out the username. It wasn’t taken, thankfully.

Conner sighed heavily. “Timmy, babe, that’s just exactly my idea but slightly different.” He said, sounding completely exasperated. 

“Not my fault if I did it better.” Tim retorted. “Besides as it’s technically your idea, you must agree that it’s good, right?”

Their conversation stretched into the night, and by the time seven o’clock in the morning rolled around, Tim had been passed out in his bed for about a grand total of three hours, and now had a blog, and quite a few posts lined up. @totallycorrectgothamheroes was now in existence. 

That morning, at seven am, as previously stated, Tim was woken up by a firm knock at his door. He jumped, and shook off the last dregs of sleep as he stumbled to his door and opened it to Alfred Pennyworth, whose expression could only be described as ‘completely and utterly done’. 

“Oh, morning Alfred.” Tim said, stifling a yawn. “What brings you here?”

“Masters Dick and Damian are having an argument concerning a jar, and Master Jason has requested your presence.” He explained. 

Tim blinked, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, and blinked again. “Ugh, sorry, you woke me up. How physical is this fight exactly?” 

“A frying pan and three knives have been thrown.” Alfred informed him with a heavy sigh. 

Tim grinned. “Oh, excellent. I’ll be down soon, give me like ten minutes.”

Tim waited for Alfred to nod and begin walking away, because it was rude to shut your door in people’s faces. Not that anyone else in Wayne Manor had gotten the memo, apparently. Not even the infamously polite Dick Grayson. 

He got dressed – nothing fancy, just the first pair of jeans in the drawer and the first t-shirt he grabbed – and made his way downstairs. The benefits of living in a mansion was that whenever the sibling equivalent of World War 3 was happening in a certain room, when you walked towards it, the noise would carry down the hallways, and the suspense would slowly build. Like a horror film, but always decidedly more entertaining.

At the moment, the exact mixture of sounds was some awful combination of Damian’s screeching, the sound of some kind of dish being thrown against the wall, Jason’s laughter, and the noticeable absence of someone telling them to stop. 

Brilliant. Tim was going to need a coffee. 

He walked into the kitchen, and immediately had to duck as a fork came flying at him, and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Tim stared at the fork, and looked back to the kitchen. Upon seeing Tim in the doorway, seconds away from being decapitated by a utensil, all three of his brothers froze in place.

Dick was stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a large glass jar under his arm, ready to jump in any direction. He was still in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and had a mug of something in one hand, attempting a smile at Tim, but still focused on Damian.

Damian was stood on top of the kitchen island, one hand wrapped around a bundle of knives and forks, and the other holding a single fork, ready to throw. He was actually dressed, but he looked dishevelled and furious, and barely even acknowledged Tim’s presence.

Jason was sat on the counter in the corner of the kitchen, eating a pint of ice cream. Ben and Jerry’s Birthday Cake, excellent taste, Tim noted. He nodded at Tim. 

“Okay, what the fuck is happening?” Tim asked, realising the absolutely chaotic state of the kitchen. The utensils were embedded in the wall, and there was broken glass all over the floor. 

“Swear jar!” Dick yelled, ducking as a fork was aimed towards his head. “Damian! It’s not polite to try and kill your brother!” he yelled, which only resulted in a knife being tossed at his head. 

“We are not using a fucking swear jar!” Damian yelled back, reading his next missile. Tim blinked a few times. Whilst this was not the weirdest situation that had ever happened in Wayne Manor, not by far, it was certainly early enough in the morning that it felt like it was the strangest thing that had ever happened.

“A swear jar?” Tim asked, stepping over broken glass to get to the coffee machine. If he could just grab that mug on the counter – 

Damian threw another fork, and Dick managed to backhand it away from his face. The fork went careening onto the counter, and crashed into the mug, sending the mug off of the counter, and smashing on the tiles, a few shards falling onto Tim’s bare feet. 

Right then. Need to get another mug. Tim walked past Dick and Damian as the latter threw several knives and forks, and the former dodged them, all the while still yelling about how the swear jar was ‘positive reinforcement’. Tim didn’t really care; he just needed a mug for his damn coffee. And if he didn’t get it – there would be severe consequences. Severe consequences involving Dick’s Lucky Charms, and their inevitable disappearance. 

Jason watched the battle of siblings silently as he ate his ice cream. Tim respected that. He would probably join him if any spoons were still in the drawer, and if he could just get a fucking mug. And maybe if the other two stopped screaming-

There was a dull ‘thunk’ noise as something connected with the back of Tim’s head. The screaming was promptly cut off as Tim whipped around. 

On the floor in front of him was a banana, and Dick’s hand was still in the fruit bowl, looking the definition of the word ‘guilty’. The banana was not the only offence, judging by the split oranges, broken apples, and other various fruits scattered around the kitchen in various states of being broken open. 

Tim, extremely calmly – and no, he didn’t look absolutely furious, don’t believe a word Dick says – picked up the banana, chose his target carefully, and hurled his new projectile weapon at Dick.

Jason shrieked with laughter as Dick screamed in horror as the banana split open upon impact. With his hair. Damian hollered triumphantly and called out “Yes, Drake!” as he excitedly dived down from the kitchen island, and grabbing a slightly squashed apple from the floor, and throwing it blindly.

There was a second, shocked silence as the apple landed with a wet ‘splat’ onto Jason’s face, and fell into his ice cream. Dick gasped quietly.

Jason jumped off the counter, and stood up straight. “Do you have no sense of decency? No sense of humanity?” he asked, his voice comically heartbroken. “It’s in my fucking ice cream, you gremlin.”

“Jason!” Dick announced, pausing his frantic grooming of his hair. “Oldest verses youngest?” he suggested, eyes frantic. Jason’s devasted expression morphed into a wicked grin.

“Oh, absolutely.” Jason agreed, the devilish smile now turned to his younger siblings. Tim swallowed nervously.

“Damian, I know we’re not always the best of friends –” Tim began, reaching behind his back to grab an orange on the counter.

“Truce. It’s over once we win.” Damian hissed, copying him, grabbing some kind of fruit.

“Okay when I say so…” Tim said, eyeing up the older two as they quickly grabbed the fruit on the floor that wasn’t horribly mangled already. 

“Now!” he yelled, tossing the orange at Jason’s head, just as Damian did the same with a plum at Dick’s. They had the advantage. 

“Quick – to the fridge!” Damian said quickly, running past Tim and ducking under Jason’s elbow. Tim tried to follow, but he was quickly grabbed by Dick, who was holding a half-destroyed apple in one hand. 

Tim panicked, and yelled – “Oh my God, Bruce, what are you doing here?!” whilst looking pointedly behind Dick. His devious plan worked, as Dick quickly whipped his head around to check that Bruce wasn’t actually behind him, and Tim broke free. 

He raced over to the fridge, where Damian was already frantically opening milk cartons. Tim wasn’t exactly sure of his plan, but he reached above him, and grabbed a carton of eggs. Was he really about to do this…?

But just as he hesitated for a moment, Jason had managed to get to the fridge, grab an opened milk carton, and pour it all over Damian, who shrieked in horror. Tim didn’t think twice as he grabbed an egg and smashed it onto Jason’s scalp.

“Oh my GOD –” Jason yelled as Damian quickly copied him, and emptied an entire milk carton over him. As this funky little interaction was going on, Tim was hurling eggs at Dick, who was dodging them infuriatingly easily. 

Damian ducked under Tim’s arm – being short did have some advantages, Tim did have to admit – and accidentally skidded across the kitchen tiles from the spilt milk. Luckily, Dick managed to catch him before he fell. 

“Jesus, D, you gotta –” but his sentence was never finished, as Damian leapt out of his grasp, and opened the dishwasher. He stepped onto the dishwasher, grabbed onto Dick’s shoulders, and hoisted himself up, and onto the counter. As Damian quickly rifled through the highest shelves of the cupboards, Dick had unfortunately fallen prey to the spilt milk that was still on the floor, and fallen into the open dishwasher. 

Meanwhile, Tim was fighting off Jason, who was very determined to also add Tim to the collection of people soaked in milk, for some reason that totally wasn’t a justified revenge. Jason had Tim in a headlock – not strong enough to hurt, he would never do that – but enough that he couldn’t get away. Tim struggled as Jason slowly tipped the milk carton, and laughed like some kind of Disney villain. Tim was running out of options, he needed to do something to get away – quick! What did animals do when they were threatened?!

Wait. They played dead!

Tim went limp, flopping dramatically against Jason. Luckily; his plan worked perfectly. Jason was startled by Tim’s head thumping against him, and released his headlock, which Tim took full advantage of by grabbing Jason’s arm, pulling it down, and grabbing the milk carton from him. But to his horror, the carton tipped dangerously, and splashed him with milk.

“Attention!” Damian yelled from the countertop, holding a box of Dick’s favourite cereal. The cereal he had purposefully hidden so that no one else could steal it. His Lucky Charms. 

Damian had the cereal box in one hand, and a lighter in the other. Wait, when the fuck had he gotten a lighter? The flame was out, and dangerously close to the box. Dick, collapsed in the dishwasher, watched him in horror. 

“Damian, please, you know you’re my favourite, right?!” his voice desperate, eyes full of genuine fear. 

“Excuse me?!” Jason cried, sounding genuinely offended. Tim would’ve commented on his expression, but he was currently still wiping milk out of his eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” a deep voice from the doorway asked. Slowly, all heads turned to see the one, the only, Bruce Wayne, standing in the doorway, looking confused and vaguely angry. 

There was a silence. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife, if they all hadn’t been embedded in the walls and scattered across the floor

“I tried to impose a swear jar?” Dick called from the dishwasher. 

“He was being unreasonable, father.” Damian offered, clicking the lighter shut. 

Bruce looked around the chaotic mess of a kitchen, and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “You will all clean this kitchen, and you’re all grounded.” He said tiredly. “No, I don’t want to hear any complaining. I’ll get into the details later.” He said, turning on his heel. As the brothers all fell silent once again, they heard a faint – “Why is there a fork in the wall?!”

Tim wiped his arm over his eyes to clear them of milk, and realised that Dick was still in the dishwasher. Tim snorted. “Who left their dildo in the dishwasher?” he commented, before suddenly having the brilliant idea of ‘that would be perfect for the blog’. 

Dick made an offended noise, and pushed himself up and into a standing position. “Rude,” he commented, before jumping up and grabbing the Lucky Charms box from Damian’s hand. “but because I am a good brother, who wants some cereal, who wants some Lucky Charms before our hard, manual labour?”

And that is how Tim found himself sat on the soaking wet floor of the kitchen, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms, leaning against an equally soaking wet Dick, who was doing the same. Damian was standing up, and leaning against the fridge, and Jason was sat on the kitchen island. The kitchen was miraculously silent as they ate.

“So.” Dick said through a mouthful of marshmallows, “Are we having a swear jar, or not?” 

“You’re really asking after all of that?” Tim asked tiredly. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was craving the coffee he never got. Maybe later, if he wasn’t dead from cleaning the mess of the kitchen with no caffeine. 

Damian groaned. “Ugh. Fine. We’ll have a fucking swear jar.” He said begrudgingly.

“One dollar already!” Jason commented brightly as Dick whooped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST REALISED I FORGOT TO CONFIRM: THE KNIVES DAMIAN WAS THROWING ARE THE BLUNT KNIVES YOU EAT FOOD WITH. HE'S NOT TRYING TO KILL DICK. 
> 
> Also Damian and Tim Will Get Along Or So Help Me- 
> 
> This chapter was so much fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! May I have a kudos, if you don't mind?


	3. Tim Actually Posts and The Boys Are Grounded, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JESUS THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE
> 
> Seriously, I've been writing this for nearly a week and it was still taking too long, so I broke it up into parts. Hopefully y'all can forgive me :)
> 
> Oh, I forgot to mention. It's not really important, but it is to me emotionally, Conner has his 90's punk design in this fic. Because I myself, am a punk. And I love a pretty boy in a leather jacket. (As does Tim).
> 
> Also, this running joke of Damian having no middle name and Jason compensating? Gonna be going forever. 
> 
> This specific... arc? I guess? Is gonna be pretty wild, so I hope you enjoy this chapter! Comments and kudos will make my heart do that weird thing where it feels all warm and fuzzy <3

“Damian Harold Wayne, are you going to actually help, or do I have to pour milk on you again?” Jason asked, throwing his washcloth onto the tiled floor. True to his word, Bruce had forced the boys to clean up the kitchen. To mostly everyone’s surprise, getting the knives and forks – and one stray spoon – out of the walls had been the easy bit. It was getting the egg yolks off the walls that was difficult.

“I still don’t have a middle name, Todd.” Damian said, not looking up from his phone. He’d claimed that he only needed to reply to a text that Jon had sent him – but two seconds had quickly stretched into five minutes.

“No, but Jaybird is right.” Dick admitted. “This is the fifth time you’ve said you need to reply to Jon, even Tim doesn’t text his boyfriend that much.” He said, as he scrubbed at a stubborn banana stain on the floor. 

Damian scowled. “Jon isn’t my boyfriend, for the hundredth time –” he insisted, but his brothers’ comically large grins cut him off. “Taba lak.” he muttered under his breath, turning back to his phone. 

“You better not be insulting us in Arabic!” Dick warned. “You still have to put a dollar in the swear jar even if it’s not in English!”

Damian rolled his eyes, faced away from his brothers. It was petty, but so was his family, and he really couldn’t be asked to be chastised for it. “It means… I love you?” He lied quickly, thinking on the spot. 

“Funny how he says that whilst talking to Jon…” Tim said quietly. A ripple of laughter went through the other two as Damian felt a blush creep up his neck.

“Shut up.” Damian snapped, shutting his phone off. “What do you want me to do, anyway?” he asked, absent-mindedly fiddling with the end of his shirt. Tim had noticed his younger brother did things like that a lot, fiddling with things. Maybe Tim should get something for him, like one of those fidget cubes.

Despite this lovely thought, Tim had to resist the urge to tell him to grow a few inches. As much as teasing Damian was fun, he also wanted to not die in his sleep. Despite being an insomniac of a legendary tier, Tim did tend to pass out occasionally. And Damian would be watching. Watching, and waiting for the moment to slice his head off. 

Yeah, better keep that comment to himself. 

Jason threw a spare washcloth at Damian, who caught it expertly. “I’ll pick you up, and with any luck you’ll be able to reach the ceiling. There’s still milk up there.” Jason commented with false brightness. Tim had to bite down on his fist to keep from laughing. 

It felt like forever, but eventually, the kitchen was resembling something that wasn’t a warzone. The glass had been swept up, the walls and floor scrubbed, Damian had actually willingly scrubbed the ceiling, and the boys were significantly exhausted. 

“How is it only eleven?” Dick asked, slumped over the kitchen island, making a small noise of thanks as Tim pushed a mug of coffee towards him. “It feels like… not eleven.”

Tim snorted as he turned back to the coffee machine. “Ah yes, not eleven. My favourite time.” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Fuck off, Timmy Turner.” Dick said, sitting up and grabbing his coffee. “I’m tired. Leave me alone.”

“That’ll be because we had to literally clean the ceiling, Damian.” Jason commented, sending a pointed look at his brother. In his defence, Tim thought, he’d had to have Damian stand on his shoulders for over an hour, because he was the tallest. That would make anyone cranky. 

Damian made an offended noise. “Excuse me – I wasn’t the one who had the brilliant idea of covering everyone in milk, nor was I the genius who decided that throwing fruit would be a good idea –”

His angry monologue was cut off by Alfred appearing in the kitchen doorway, from seemingly nowhere. “Boys, Master Bruce has requested your presence in the living room.”

The argument was killed dead before it even began, as the boys put down their drinks, and followed Alfred through the house, the odd elbow or glare passing between Damian and Jason as they walked. 

Ah, sibling relationships. Always so pleasant with one another.

The living room had three couches, assembled in a U shape, the middle couch facing the fireplace and the large TV suspended on the wall above it. All of the boys knew that there was a significance to where Bruce sat on said couches – as in, it would let you know exactly how deep in shit you were if you were in trouble.

Bruce was sat on the left couch, but in the middle. Ah, not excellent, Tim realised. They were all in trouble, but it wasn’t as bad as the time where Jason and Tim’s combined efforts blew up half the Batcave a little. Just a little. Tim wasn’t entirely sure why it was considered a problem at the time – it hadn’t been that big of an explosion! And, to be completely honest, he still didn’t quite understand. At least Jason could agree with him on that.

The boys all took their positions on the couches, and the second they did, a black Great Dane jumped up next to Damian and rested his head in his lap. Damian barely reacted, just petting the dog’s head. “Hello, Titus.” He murmured.

“So, have you cleaned the kitchen?” Bruce asked, not looking up from the newspaper he was reading. There were a few noises of general agreement from the four of them. 

“Good. However, you shouldn’t have been acting like that in the first place. Especially not over something as small as a swear jar.” Bruce said, sending a subtle look over at Damian, who squirmed a little closer to Titus, and lowered his eyes.

“So… what now? Are we being grounded or something?” Jason asked, tone joking, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Bruce nodded, still not looking up from his newspaper. “Yep.” 

There was a short silence, before the inevitable chaos set in. “What?! I can’t be grounded, I’m an adult!” Jason argued, standing up immediately. “Dick as well! We’re adults!” he repeated, gesturing at a rather shocked looking Dick, who looked both exhausted and terrified. 

“You still live in the manor; you still follow the rules.” Bruce explained blandly. “Terribly sorry about that.”

“What do you even mean by being grounded?” Tim asked, seemingly still the only one with vaguely any calm. He wasn’t too worried about being grounded; he’d just get Conner to fly over for the night. Tim did promise to introduce Conner to Minecraft at some point, and tonight didn’t sound that bad. 

Bruce sighed, and finally folded his newspaper. “No weapons, and no patrol for the next two days.” From three of the boys, not including Tim, there was an immediate cry of protest. 

Noticing Tim’s lack of overdramatic response, Bruce also added a “And no significant others either. Actually, for the next two days, this house has a ‘no supers’ policy. So, no, Jon can’t come over, Damian. And no, Tim, you may not see Conner.” 

Okay, no. This ‘being grounded’ thing just wasn’t going to stand. Not going out on patrol, as much as he enjoyed that, was one thing, but being banned from seeing his boyfriend? For a whole two days? When they had a date in Metropolis planned? And a shared Minecraft sever on the line? No. Tim was not going to stand for this. Especially not when Conner had gotten a cute new piercing and Tim desperately wanted to see it in person.

He was rambling now, but the point remained. This was ridiculous. Dick and Jason were both adults, Tim was nearly an adult, and Damian – he wasn’t an adult, but – Damian knew how to kill someone with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back. 

“But won’t the city go to shit if we’re not patrolling?” Damian asked, sounding calm, but only just. He was probably, and completely understandably, furious. 

“Swear jar.” Dick muttered as Bruce sighed, and did that thing where he pinched the bridge of his nose, and cursed the fact he’d adopted so many kids. 

“No. It’s two days, Damian. And if anything serious happens, you’ll be allowed out. But for that reason, and that reason alone. Understand?” he explained, still giving Damian that same look. 

Damian slumped down further on the couch, crossing his arms. “Unfortunately. Am I at least allowed to take Titus for a walk?” he asked, daring to sound slightly hopeful. 

“No, because you enjoy that, and this is a punishment for wrecking the kitchen. I’ll walk him today.” Bruce said, unfolding his newspaper and turning the page. “Speaking of things you enjoy, no weapons either. No detective work. Die of boredom if you have to.”

Jason groaned loudly, flopping over the couches dramatically. “This is so unfair; we’re being treated like kids!”

“You acted like kids, so I’m not entirely sure what to tell you.” Bruce said, eyes scanning a news story of an alleged sighting of Red Robin and Supernova in Gotham. Tim felt a little embarrassed, but to be completely fair, Conner had been incessant about hanging out with him that night, despite patrol. Or was it Tim? Either way, they loved just to hang out together, and being superheroes wasn’t going to stop that. 

Speaking of patrol – there was no way any of them were just going to sit and take this, right? Dick… well Dick regularly did backflips off of buildings, so getting him to act out probably wouldn’t be impossible. Jason was already mad, and Tim knew that, as much as he denied it, having a consistent schedule was important to Damian. And as a result, Tim’s mind was already whirring as Alfred called Bruce for something, and the four of them were left alone.

“So, what now?” Dick asked, sounding a little shell-shocked. “I mean I was honestly expecting to be told to go finish off paperwork, but I guess that’s off the table, being hero-work and all.”

“I was assuming that the kitchen would take much longer.” Damian said, scratching behind Titus’s ears. “I was going to practice with my shuriken – but no weapons.” He sounded dejected, which was weird for a kid to be sounding when he was talking about being banned from playing with sharp things.

Now, there’s something you should know about a one Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. He is incredibly smart, but his common sense is so low, that you may mistake him for being an idiot. Whilst a lack of common sense is certainly a contender for being an idiot, Tim’s true genius shone through that night, as he came up with an idea. An idea so simple, yet so perfect, it had to be fate. 

“What if we sneak out?” Tim voiced aloud. There was a pause as each of the boys processed this offer. 

“Tim, I never thought I’d say this to your face, and mean it,” Jason said, “but you’re a fucking genius.” Tim couldn’t help the grin on his face. Okay, that was one brother out of three. 

“Swear jar!” Dick piped up again, before his expression melted into a frown. “Wait, you complimented him.” His frown deepened. “Great – now I’m emotionally conflicted.”

“Not about sneaking out, though. Right?” Tim asked hopefully. 

Dick blinked at him. “What? No, of course not. We’re sneaking out.” Excellent. Two down, one to go. 

“Dami –”

“Yes, of course I am going to sneak out with you three.” Damian responded blandly. “When do we start?”

Three out of three, excellent.

Tim tapped his knee, thinking. This was going to be a delicate operation, judging by the sheer amount of security systems in and around the manor. 

“Hmm, we’ll start by pretending like we’ve got nothing planned, and then we’ll…” Tim continued his explanation of the first part of his plan. His full plan actually contained five parts, but they only needed to know about part one for now. 

After all, there was no way this could go wrong. Right?

As Tim had anticipated, Bruce came back into the room eventually, and told them to get on with their usual activities that didn’t involve weapons or detective work. Jason went with Damian to help him with his homework for English – Damian, despite being very talented in many different aspects, he unfortunately still couldn’t quite grasp some of the subtler metaphors in ‘Romeo and Juliet’, but luckily, Jason was a massive literature nerd, and was happy to ramble for an hour as Damian copied it down. Tim knew from first-hand experience that Jason could and would tell you about five different separate uses of wordplay in one sentence. 

Dick went off to his room to practice his acrobatics, and Tim could tell he was trying some new thing he’d probably saw online, because it took a solid two minutes before he heard a loud thump, and a curse in Romani. Swear jar being multilingual his ass. 

And as for Tim himself, he wasn’t allowed to contact his boyfriend, or finish up any case files, so he was really stuck with two options. Breaking out his camera, and posting on Tumblr for the first time.

It wasn’t that Tim had never posted before, he was an angsty emo at one point, of course he had. But this was about his family, and if anyone found out, it would embarrass them beyond belief.

His first post was typed up and tagged before he reached the end of that thought. 

He leaned back in his desk chair and appreciated the simple work of art from afar. The post read as such – 

Red Robin: Who left their dildo in the dishwasher?  
Nightwing, in a dishwasher: Rude

It was a masterpiece. The tags were simple, but there were many of them. Now, with one masterpiece flawlessly pulled off without a hitch, it was time for the second. His master plan to sneak out. Tim stood up from his desk, and grabbed his camera from its dedicated shelf. 

Having an interest in photography had actually helped Tim out practically in a truly extraordinary number of ways before, and today was no exception. As a good angle mattered to a lot to him, more so than looking stupid, so if he was found in a weird position or location or both with his camera, it really wasn’t that suspicious. 

Although, it definitely should be in this exact situation. 

His part of the plan was simple. Mention something about how the lighting in the manor was awful, and get Jason to come out into the hallway, and throw off Bruce completely. 

He started by walking around in the corridor outside Bruce’s study, making sure to actually get some decent photos in. You know, just in case. There was this old lamp that had a really nice look if you angled it just right in that corridor, and Tim often took photos of it. So far, so convincing. 

He grumbled theatrically, and quickly pulled out his phone, and opened up his texts. 

Tim: Jason  
Tim: Jay  
Tim: Jaybird  
Tim: J  
Tim: J-dog  
Jason: omfl WHAT  
Tim: I need you to go into the corridor. The one outside B’s study. Fancy lamp corridor  
Jason: right but why  
Jason: demon is finally starting to understand the balcony scene and you want me to stop helping him now??  
Tim: Jay i stg  
Tim: /its for the plan/  
Jason: ooooooh  
Jason: ye ok ill be there  
Jason: also never call me j-dog again or i will shoot ur bf  
Tim: Not me??  
Jason: i have kryptonite bullets and itd hurt you more  
Tim: WHY DO YOU HAVE KRYPTONITE BULLETS  
Tim: JASON??

Excellent. Everything was going according to plan. Well, not excellent, because apparently, Jason was ready to murder Conner at any time. Which was concerning, so Tim was going to need to get rid of those bullets at some point. It wasn’t surprising though; Jason was shockingly overprotective when it came to his brothers and romantic relationships. 

Soon enough, Jason showed up in the corridor, looking bored. “What did you need me for again?”

“I need you to stand next to this light, I wanna try a new angle.” Tim said, his voice slightly louder than normal, hopefully not suspiciously loud. He dropped his voice to a whisper and added. “I don’t really. I need you to put me on your shoulders.”

Jason frowned. “Why didn’t you just get Dick to do it? I was genuinely helping the demon spawn! We were connecting, having a bonding moment!” he insisted. 

“How many times did he stab you?” Tim asked, keeping his voice down, but still managing a sarcastic tone.

“He didn’t at all, actually.” Jason announced proudly.

“How many times did he attempt to stab you before you took away his knives?”

“Five, but I don’t see how –”

A door slammed somewhere in the manor, making both of them jump. Tim narrowed his eyes at Jason. “Okay, there’s literally no more time to argue this, just put me on your shoulders and we’ll go from there.” 

Jason sighed, but willingly got on one knee, and let Tim scramble onto his shoulders. He stood up, and swayed slightly with the added weight. 

“Fucking hell Jay, don’t drop me!” he hissed, grabbing onto Jason’s shoulders. “Okay, that’s great Jason! That’s all I need, thanks!” he said loudly, trying not to fall off.

“Yeah, you sound really natural there.” Jason whispered, holding onto Tim’s legs to make sure he didn’t fall.

“Fuck off, we need to go to the Batcave.” He whispered. Jason nodded, and began walking quickly, Tim ducking and dodging the lights as he did so. 

They quickly came to a problem. The stairs.

“Well, shit. Should I put you down?” he asked. 

Tim shook his head. “Nope, we still need to only have one pair of footsteps. You’ll have to carry me down.” Tim insisted. “But if you do drop me, I’ll tell Conner to crush your head.”

“Kryptonite bullets, Timbo.” Jason mentioned as he slowly began making his way down the stairs. “Wait, why do we need only one pair of footsteps again?”

“So, Bruce will think I’m still out there for a bit and won’t be suspicious. I reckon we’ve got at least twenty minutes before he realises we’ve moved away, so hurry the fuck up! This whole thing is very time conscious!” he hissed. Jason nodded, and picked up the pace, and immediately slipped on the stairs, careened forwards, sending Tim and himself flying. 

Tim landed somewhere towards the bottom, clutching onto the banisters in order to not fall any farther. Jason, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He fell further than Tim, and somehow managed to slam his head into a wall, making a loud bang that echoed around the manor. 

Tim could scream. He could almost see his beautiful, masterfully crafted plan burn in front of his eyes. Dear Lord, this was gonna be interesting. There wasn’t enough time to come up with a new plan, so Tim was going to have to face his greatest enemy.

Improvisation. 

“Well, there goes subtlety.” Tim muttered, acting as if his heart wasn’t torn up and shattered into a million pieces. “Jay? You alright?” he asked, louder. Jason groaned.

“I’ve been better.” He mumbled, sitting up. He blinked, and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, I’m fine. I’m not carrying you again, though. Get the dildo.”

Tim snorted as he helped Jason up. “Out of context –”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. What now?” Jason asked, leaning against the wall. In a house filled with detectives, he’d learnt how to act natural at the drop of a hat. With a noise that loud, Bruce or Alfred would come running any second. 

Tim sighed. “Well, my original plan is ruined. Guess we’ll have to improvise.” He said, running a hand through his hair. Jason frowned.

“…we fell once. How has that messed up your entire fucking plan?” 

“Are you questioning my genius, Jason?” Tim said, voice comically offended. 

“Yes.” Jason responded flatly. “Because you want to improvise around Batman. And that’s insane.”

“He dresses up as a bat and jumps off of roofs every night. That’s insane enough already. Now, can you do me a favour and grab Dick and Damian?” Tim said, already starting down the stairs.

“Where should we meet you?” Jason called, because Tim was surprisingly fast, and was already at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Where do you think? Batcave!” Tim announced, before he promptly disappeared off into the manor. Great. So now, instead of an overthought of plan that would’ve maybe worked, they were improvising around Batman like the roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote, Jason thought to himself.

Yeah. This was gonna go swimmingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim, as his plan goes to utter shit: THIS IS FINE
> 
> And Jason being a literature nerd is now canon and there is nothing you can all do to stop me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


	4. The Boys Are Grounded, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> logically, I should not be writing at 2am, but emotionally, I have to. 
> 
> I am so fuckin sleep deprived y'all. Enjoy this chapter, alternatively labelled as 'Tim has a panic attack whilst the author tries to remember how to type in the dark'

“Gotta go fast.” Tim mumbled to himself as he ran through the manor. Good Lord, he was so stressed he was making sonic references. Okay, Tim, calm down, and think. Improv didn’t always have to mean have no plan whatsoever, right? 

No, that’s exactly what improv meant. Jesus, Tim was struggling with this. There was a reason behind this spur of the moment thing, and that was because there wasn’t time to make a plan! Bruce and Alfred would be onto them in seconds if he didn’t just – 

Tim almost threw himself against a wall in his eagerness to suddenly stop. He’d reached the Batcave, fucking finally. He quickly ran through the scanners and the locks and the passwords, and ran inside. 

Okay, okay, okay. First thing’s first, costumes! And quick, before someone spotted him down here. Tim ran across the large room, his footsteps sounding awfully loud as they reverberated across the walls. Okay – get to the changing rooms, grab the costumes – wait. Uniforms. Damian would flip his shit if Tim referred to them as costumes again. 

Tim quickly grabbed his own uniform – he had priorities, sue him – and Damian’s cape before he was interrupted by no one else other than Bruce himself.

“Tim, why are you going through your brothers’ uniforms?” he asked, voice indicating he knew exactly why. Tim froze.

“Uh – Damian stole my phone?” Tim lied quickly, setting the uniforms down. Yes! Brilliant cover story, easy to build on – ignoring the fact that if Tim shifted even a little in the wrong direction his sweater would ride up, and reveal the very obvious shape of his phone in his pocket, of course –

“Then why would it be in his Robin uniform?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Tim considered himself rather eloquent, but in that exact moment, all his anxiety-ridden brain could think of was ‘Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’. 

“He – uh – didn’t have it on him. And it wasn’t in his room –” Tim said quickly. This was quickly spiralling from a ‘probably bad decision’ to ‘worst idea in the goddamn world’ as Bruce’s general deadpan look transitioned into disappointment.

“And why were you in Damian’s room?” he asked, crossing his arms. Tim felt like, if this was an anime, he’d have a stress sweat-drop. God, this was awful. Quick – why would Tim have a decent reason to be in Damian’s room?

“He… has drugs in his room? And, as his older brother, I am concerned for him?” Brilliant work there, Tim. Very believable. And sure, family sympathy points rarely worked with Bruce before, but he could hope for it. 

No, it was obviously bullshit. 

Bruce clearly thought the same, as he sighed heavily. “Damian. As in, Damian who threw a shuriken at Jason when he assumed that he was drinking alcohol at dinner despite the fact that his bottle had ‘non-alcoholic beer’ on the label? Same Damian?” 

Well, fuck. Tim cursed every decision he’d ever made as he said the single sentence that would seal his doom. 

“Yep. Same Dami.” 

Bruce nodded. “Right. Okay, Tim, go back to your room. You are now banned from all technology for the next week.” 

Tim felt his heart break. Shattering, piece by piece, each individual crack and splinter causing him rivers of pain. 

“I’d rather die!” Tim announced loudly. “And Jason has tried to scare me with descriptions of death! I know exactly how much it sucks!” He grabbed his Red Robin utility belt, and the edge of his cape, and dodged under Bruce’s arm as he ran back through the cave. 

Tim’s brain had seemingly turned off as he ran past Bruce, but it was quickly kicking into overdrive. Okay, okay, okay – can’t go back into the manor, too obvious, but he could…

The motorbikes. He had his own goddamn motorbike – the all did! – why didn’t he think of this earlier!? 

As Tim ran over to his bike, he clipped his belt around his waist, and bundled his cape up in his arms. Bruce was so gonna kill him once – or if. Please think if, Tim – he caught up to him, but he literally couldn’t give a shit. His technology was on the line. His tech, for crying out loud! Man has needs!

Bruce’s thunderous footsteps suddenly seemed right behind him and – oh shit, Tim did not have time for this, he didn’t have time to get his bike – he could tell that Bruce’s arm was stretching out – oh god, oh god, the door. Hit the button and make the bat-equivalent of their garage door open up.

Tim ducked as Bruce made a swing for the back of his shirt. He grabbed onto the seat of Damian’s bike, and vaulted over it, leaving Bruce swearing as Tim sprinted over to the button that would open up the door. He slammed his hand down, and almost felt the final nail in his coffin be hammered in. 

“Tim, I swear to God–!” Bruce yelled as Tim ducked down and shot through the thin gap of the garage door opening, his cape trailing behind him as it spilled out of his arms. 

He pulled on his cape over his hoodie as he thundered down the wide metal tunnel, which would lead straight to a back alley in the middle of Gotham – which wasn’t exactly somewhere Tim liked the idea of going at the moment. Okay, so where could he go? He’d really narrowed down all his options with this decision, huh? This is why he didn’t improvise!

Bruce was running down the tunnel. Shit. Okay, okay, Tim could handle this! How could he handle this? He needed some kind of cover, something he could sneak through to get past Bruce unnoticed –

As if his prayers had been answered, the lights in the tunnel suddenly shut off, and Tim was plunged into darkness. Oh. That’ll work!

Tim, as slowly as he would allow himself, tiptoed past Bruce, who was cursing and walking around too loudly to notice him, slipped back into the Batcave, and ran into the changing rooms. He grabbed the rest of his uniform as quickly as humanly possible, and ran out. He didn’t have time to change, so he’d have to do it upstairs, much to Alfred’s horror. 

Tim ran at full speed back up the stairs, and nearly flattened Damian as he sprinted past, accidentally brushing against his arm. Damian jolted as if he’d been burnt. 

“Watch it, Drake!” Damian spat, rubbing his arm like Tim had punched him. 

Huh. Why was he reacting like that? Weird. Wait, no, Tim, focus! “Oh, sorry Dami – meet me in the kitchen in about ten minutes!”

Damian narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Todd said to meet in the Batcave, and to turn the lights off in there –”

“Change of plans!” Tim yelled, hyped up on anxious energy. Damian’s consistent glare morphed into a darker scowl as Tim blurted something out that might’ve been an apology as he dashed towards his room. He had shaken Bruce off of his tail for now – but how long would ‘now’ last?

He got changed in a concerningly quick amount of time, clicking on the gauntlets and belts faster than he reckoned he’d ever done before. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

With his domino mask still in his hand, Tim sprinted down the hallways, until he came to a familiar door. He grabbed the handle, yanked it open, and yelled “We are all in big fucking trouble!” 

Dick, Jason, and Damian looked up from their individual phones, and the large copy of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ Jason was holding. Wait, why was Damian just hanging out in Dick’s room? Just on his phone, not a care in the world? 

“Tim, are you okay?” Dick asked hesitantly from his position on his bed. How long had he been hanging upside down for? That couldn’t be comfortable – wait, Tim, focus!

“I – uh, yes. No. I fucked up.” Tim explained quickly. “We’re all in deep shit.”

“This really feels like it’s a personal problem, and not our issue.” Jason commented, going back to Shakespeare. “You fucked up; you deal with the consequences.”

“You were partly the reason I fucked up in the first place!” Tim insisted. “Look, if we wanna get out, we need to work together. The first thing we should be doing is getting into costume!”

“Uniform.” Damian corrected as he stood up. “What’s your plan then, Drake?”

Tim tried his best to conceal his shock at Damian’s sudden faith in him, and probably failed miserably. “Well – you three need to get changed, and I still need gear, so two of us will distract Bruce and Alfred whilst the other two get ready, then we’ll alternate. Any idea of how we could do that?”

“Grayson does some ridiculous acrobatics and Todd makes a show of it.” Damian stated, rather than suggested. “They’re both excellent at being distracting and dramatic.”

Dick frowned. “Uh, thanks? I think?” 

Jason shook his head and patted his arm. “Take it as a compliment, Dickwad. All that circus training finally coming in handy!”

“I can do a quadruple somersault off of a twelve-foot drop and land perfectly – and my ability to be loud and showy is what you find useful out of all of that?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow, which looked extremely weird as he was still hanging upside down off of his bed. 

“Yep.” Jason responded flatly, shutting his book with a snap. “Now, let’s go dangle you off of a chandelier.”

Dick’s face brightened at that, and he flipped off the bed, because he was insufferable. “Ooh! I do love a good chandelier!” he continued talking to Jason as they both quickly made their way out, Tim and Damian hot on their heels.

The scene played out almost exactly as Tim expected. Dick was literally hanging upside down from the chandelier in the living room – something he hadn’t done since he was about thirteen, not after the great Dinner Party Incident_tm – and Jason was laughing so uproariously that anyone could tell it was fake. Bruce and Alfred watched on in mild horror and general disappointment, respectively, as they attempted to make Dick come down. Damian and Tim used the opportunity to sneak down into the cave, and get all of their stuff. So far, so good. 

Then came the tricky bit. Damian and Tim would need to distract Alfred and Bruce, whilst they were still in costume. Tim may or may not have accidentally contributed somewhere around ten whole dollars to the swear jar when that particular detail clicked. 

Tim and Damian were still in the cave, Damian reluctantly so, as he made abundantly clear by his complaining, and Tim happily so, as he was pacing anxiously, desperately trying to conceive of some semblance of an idea.

An idea. Huh, that reminded him of the other night, when he’d first got that idea for the incorrect quotes blog. What had he called everyone again? Fruit salads?

Tim exhaled, and took out his phone. Damian raised an eyebrow, and muttered something that sounded insulting in Arabic, but Tim ignored him as he opened up the Tumblr app. His thought process being that if he could focus on something else for a minute or two, his brain might take pity on him and actually work. 

As Tim selected the @totallycorrectgothamheroes blog, he realised something. He had only posted one quote, and that was earlier that day. Yet he had over a hundred notifications. And, judging from the fact that his first ever post had over a thousand notes already, it wasn’t from his main. 

Oh, dear lord. The first post had over two thousand notes. Tim, in disbelief, pressed on the note count, and found the replies littered with comments and praise for… artwork? 

He scrolled up, and nearly screamed. Someone had drawn it. Someone had taken time out of their day, to draw him and his brother, in almost the exact same pose that’d taken place earlier that very same day. That’s why the post blew up, right? Because the artist was popular?

Mind still a little caught off guard, Tim picked the option for a new post, and typed it up.

Red Robin: We’re like… fruit salads  
Red Hood: Why are you like this

It wasn’t the exact quote, but the energy was the same. Plus, he still had the saved draft of ‘Nightwing: Lemons! We are lemons!’ tucked away. So that was a post for tomorrow saved. 

“Drake, if you do not cease your endless meandering, I will not hesitate to find a high window to throw you out of.” Damian snapped, finally losing his patience. 

Tim looked up from his phone, as a sudden idea came to him. Window. Window, the manor had a bunch of windows, and it was fairly standard for the four of them to come and go via the windows instead of the doors… 

“Damian, you’re a goddamn treasure.” Tim said with a smile as he pocketed his phone. He ignored Damian’s confused face as he shot out of the Batcave, mind whirring. Finally, he had some idea of where this whole escapade was heading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is terrible. It's 2am. I haven't slept properly in a week. Enjoy my trash. 
> 
> Idk if you all can tell, but i'm really trying to hint at a certain headcanon with Damian,, which may or may not end up being a chapter or two in the future. What is it, I hear you maybe ask? The answer is that you should probably keep following this fic to find out. (is that too desperate? definitely. am I unaware of most of reality right now so therefore I don't care? absolutely)
> 
> Also it's autism acceptance month this april and ya boi is autistic so drop a kudos and a comment to share some love <3333


	5. The Boys Are Grounded, Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do these chapters take me fOREVER dude like I stg
> 
> Me, at the beginning of quarantine: oh i'll try writing fanfiction, something short just for fun
> 
> Me, three weeks and 14k words later: what have I become
> 
> Also I know I probably don't need to but there's a scene at the end where Tim breaks a bone - things get wild, you guys - and that might potentially trigger someone so please read with caution babes <3

Tim ran down the hallways, Damian barely keeping up. This was a stupid plan; this was incredibly stupid. In fact, this might be the stupidest thing Tim had ever done. 

No, no. Scratch that. The stupidest thing Tim had ever done was try to wake Damian up by himself, before he got over the whole ‘murdering is okay’ thing. That, tied with Conner Kent. 

Yeah, not willing to repeat that experience any time soon. Well, the last one he’d definitely like to repeat. But back to the plan, he had everything he needed. Heavy bookshelves that weren’t bolted to the wall, check. High windows that he knew he could fit through with little to no issue, check. Grappling hook, check. Small, vaguely homicidal younger brother that would be one hundred percent willing to throw him out a window, check. 

Tim double checked that Damian was keeping up, he was, and finally found what he was looking for. A bookshelf, one that didn’t have anything sentimental on it. It was honestly shocking how full the Manor was of Tim’s photos, Damian’s artwork, Dick’s medals and certificates for acrobatics, and Jason’s assorted mementos, like the scrapbook-esque photo of all four of them, all laughing as they failed to take a ‘nice family photo’, that’d been covered with cheap stickers from some kid’s magazine. Jason had been drunk out of his mind when he did it, but everyone else found it sweet enough that it had its own frame and everything. 

“Okay, Dami, you need to get on top of the bookshelf. Once you’re on top, just pull it down.” Tim explained, tapping his foot and checking behind him. This entire plan was extremely time-sensitive, on account of the fact that Bruce was a fast runner, and would not hesitate to physically stop them.

Damian gave him an incredulous look. “Do you even have any idea of what you’re doing, Drake? What purpose will that serve?”

Ah, right. A slight hitch in the plan. In the rush of it all, Tim had forgotten that Damian was a fucking brat. 

“I do have a plan, actually. And it actually involves you pushing me out a window; but you won’t be able to do that unless you topple this thing.” Tim offered. There was probably some kind of ethical argument against encouraging your brother to push you out of a window, but right now, Tim couldn’t care less. If defenestration is what it took to get him back on patrol and away from a potential week without tech – then defenestration it would be. 

Damian considered it for a moment, before shooting up the bookshelf, and before Tim could exactly register what was going on, the bookshelf came down with a loud bang. Just as he’d planned. 

Tim gestured to Damian to run – one time, Dick had grabbed his wrist unexpectedly on patrol, and he’d earnt a batarang to the face. And with Dick being Damian’s favourite brother being common knowledge; Tim knew he’d definitely end up with a katana through his ribs – and grabbed his grapple from his belt. 

They raced down the halls, only stopping when Tim picked the perfect window, and immediately started pushing at it to open it. Damian watched in confusion as Tim swung one leg out the window, and was quickly followed by the other one. 

“I thought I would be pushing you?” Damian asked, having the nerve to sound disappointed – little demon bastard – as Tim attached his grapple to the window ledge, and readjusted himself so it looked like he was standing in the window, leaning back into the empty air. 

“You will be, we’ve just gotta wait for…” he trailed off as he heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. Aha, Bruce was on his way, Alfred never ran with such heavy footsteps. “Get into position, look like you’re about to shove me, but don’t actually do it.”

Damian nodded, and readied himself, arms pulled back and hands outstretched. “So, when do I actually do it?” he whispered, as they could both hear Bruce getting closer, and him cursing as he tried to get over the fallen bookshelf.

“When you see Bruce come around the corner.” Tim whispered back. “He’s got to see it.” 

And then, an old bet came to mind. Jason, something to do with memes…

“When you push me, you’ve got to yell ‘yeet’, okay?” Tim told him quickly. “It’s integral to the plan, you’ve got to. As loud as you possibly can.” He lied. If he actually managed to pull this off – oh, the bragging rights! They would be glorious!

Three, two, one. Bruce came around the corner, and Tim heard Damian scream “Yeet!” at the top of his lungs as Tim went flying. 

With the hook of his grapple still attached to the window, and his hand still around the handle, Tim wasn’t going to fall very far. So, as he felt gravity leave him for a few seconds, Tim pressed down on the trigger, and the length of cable attached to the hook shot out, letting him swing down and making it look like he had actually fallen. He clung to the old bricks, thanking whoever first built Wayne Manor that they decided on stupidly large, jutting out window ledges both inside and out. He was completely hidden, except for his grapple. 

Now, time for the tricky bit. 

He had chosen this specific window for a reason, it was close to Jason’s old room, and he’d regularly used this window to escape whenever he felt bored or threatened, and he’d managed to carve in crude hand and foot holds into the old brick, which meant that if Tim could hang on for a bit, he could stay attached to the wall like a spider if he needed to. 

He let go of the grapple’s handle, feeling anxiety spike in him as he watched it sway on the end of the cable, hanging off the ledge in such a way that if he wanted to get a hold of it again, he’d need to reach out to grab it. 

Tim pressed himself up against the wall, waiting for the inevitable yelling. 

“Tim!” Ah, there it was. “Tim!” Bruce repeated frantically. He sounded incredibly worried, which made Tim feel guilty. But then he remembered why he was doing this all in the first place, and he was not ready to give up his tech for a whole week. Not even if he had to momentarily fake his death.

“Damian, what did you –” Hah, now it was Damian’s problem. Tim had to remind himself that he was a nice big brother, he was kind, he wasn’t like Jason who made jokes at literally every possible opportunity…

But he was a still a sibling, and, hey, if you can’t be slightly pleased at the fact your sibling is in trouble, can you even enjoy anything at all?

“He asked me too!” Damian protested. The little shit, of course he’d say that.

“Fuck, of course he did. He’s not on the ground, he’s not on his grapple…” Ah, Bruce was in detective mode. But Tim knew for a fact that he didn’t know about the handholds under the window.

With his fingers starting to ache, Tim carefully pulled out his phone as quietly as possible. 

Tim: Make a loud noise.  
Dick: What? Right now?   
Dick: We’re in the cave what kind of noise can we make  
Tim: I’m literally clinging to the side of the house rn so idk, MAKE SOMETHING UP  
Tim: be creative we dont have TIME  
Dick: You’re what now  
Dick: yk what that’s a question for later  
Dick: I’ll get a bat and hit it against a wall, and with all the echoing in the cave,,, think that’ll work?  
Tim: I DoNT CARE JUST DO IT  
Dick: OKAY OKAY I’M DOING IT

There was a quiet thump. Bruce swore again, and Damian suppressed a laugh. The thump happened again, and again, two more times. Bruce’s heavy footsteps disappeared out of earshot.

“You can come up again, Drake.” Damian called. Tim groaned in relief, and reached out for his grapple. He clung on to the handle, and retracted the cable, letting himself be pulled up back into the window. 

“Yikes, I’m not doing that again for a while.” Tim decided, massaging his fingers through his gauntlets. He shook his wrists loose, and stood up properly in the hallway. “Alright, let’s get down to the cave. Dick and Jay are definitely gonna need our help.”

“Can’t Grayson and Todd look after themselves?” Damian commented as they ran back down the halls, vaulting over the fallen bookshelf as they made their way through the house. 

“Well, yes, but they just pissed off Batman.” Tim explained, pausing once he reached the stairs. He grabbed onto the banister, and swung himself on. 

“Alfred will kill you.”

“He’s killed all four of us ten times over already in that case, now shut up and act like a kid for a second.”

Damian grumbled, but he followed Tim onto the banister, and even shrieked slightly as they slid down. And Tim totally did not laugh as Damian had to jump down from the banister instead of just stepping off. Oh, the struggles of being short. Tim couldn’t relate.

They ran into the living room, and paused. Jason was stood in the massive fireplace, looking up as soot rained down onto his helmet. Thank god for that helmet, Tim privately thought, he’d have gone blind by now if he wasn’t wearing it. What was he even looking at anyway?

Suddenly, a foot poked out from above Jason, nearly kicking him in the face. A loud Romani curse echoed down from the fireplace as Jason dodged the foot. 

“Swear jar…” Jason trailed off as he noticed Tim and Damian staring at the whole scene. 

“Is Dick trying to climb up the chimney?” Tim asked, feeling a wide smile come to his face. Oh, this was just getting better and better. 

A muffled “Yes!” came out from the wall above the fireplace, which made Tim snort. 

“I have good news.” Tim announced proudly. “I got Damian to quote a vine – completely willingly.”

Jason’s expression was unreadable behind the helmet, but Tim could imagine well enough. “You did what!? Which one, wait – what was the situation?!”

“Can that wait?” Dick called from behind the wall, seemingly a lot higher, before there was a sudden shriek, a mass of dislodged soot raining down on Jason. And then Dick himself, who fell with absolutely no grace onto Jason, pushing him to the ground. 

Dick scrambled to his feet, pulling Jason up with him, all the while babbling variations of “Jesus Christ, Jay, I’m sorry.” Which, was ignored by Jason, predictably. 

Dick, covered in soot, stumbled out of the fireplace, throwing black dust onto the soft carpet. 

“Grayson, why were you attempting to climb up the chimney?” Damian asked.

“B was coming, I needed an escape route.” Dick explained quickly, not before shaking out his hair, and accidentally showering Damian with soot. Tim was unashamed to admit that he laughed at that.

Jason clambered out of the fireplace, and took off his helmet. “So, we’re not escaping through the chimney. Anyone got any other ideas?”

“As if the chimney route would’ve worked at all – Grayson would’ve gotten stuck or have fallen again.” Damian commented dryly. Jason snorted at Dick’s offended expression.

“B would’ve been so confused to find the tracker in the wall.” Tim joked. None of them actually had any tracking devices on them, well – they did, but that was for missions and patrol and stayed in the uniforms. 

Damian’s eyes widened. “Grayson has a tracker on him?”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, obviously.” he said, in the most deadpan voice he could muster. 

“What?!” Damian exploded. “This is awful! Quick – we must go to the Batcave and remove it!” he grabbed Dick’s wrist, and immediately began running towards the Cave, Dick being forced to follow.

“Did… did he just –” Jason asked, looking at Damian and Dick’s retreating forms in disbelief. “He seriously thought –”

Tim shook his head. “No, that’s my fault. I still can’t believe he doesn’t get sarcasm, though. He’s spent enough time around us.” He argued. In all honesty, Tim did feel a little guilty. When Damian had first turned up, he didn’t understand most humour, and a lot of jokes still flew over his head, even five years later. 

Jason frowned. “Hm. I wonder… what if there’s a reason he doesn’t get sarcasm?”

Tim gave him a look. “Uh, yeah, the reason is that ninja assassins don’t like humour?” 

Jason shook his head, frowning further. “No, he’s shrugged most of that off by now. I’m wondering if there’s more of a reason.”

“Like what?” Tim asked.

Jason opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, there was a sudden yell of “DAMIAN BARTHOLOMEW WAYNE PUT THAT DOWN –!”

“Ah, shit. Dick’s gonna die.” Jason commented dryly, before running off down the corridor. 

“Swear jar!” Tim reminded him as he followed.

Once they actually got to the Cave, Tim had to fight to not laugh, because that would be cruel because Damian had misunderstood a joke and genuinely thought Dick had some kind of tracker in him – 

But this was just too good. 

Dick had been tied up with Damian’s grapple’s cable, and was leant against the wall, frantically trying to explain to Damian that he, in fact, did not have a tracker inside of him and he should really be let go now – but Damian didn’t care, as he was holding up a metal detector to Dick, and focusing with immense concentration. 

“Oi, Demon Spawn.” Jason called. “Dickybird doesn’t have a tracker on him, Replacement was making a joke.”

“You know, your love of nicknames never fails to be endearing.” Tim deadpanned. 

“Thanks, Roy agrees.” Jason responded brightly. Tim raised a slight eyebrow at that – Jason didn’t often mention people or what he did outside the Manor, with one exception. Roy Harper was clearly Jason’s favourite, and it reminded Tim vaguely of what he’d been like before he started dating Conner. 

Wait a second –

Tim was suddenly yanked out of his speculation by Dick yelling “Dancing queen!” at the top of his lungs.

Jason and Damian had dissolved into bickering, which Tim had naturally tuned out, but Dick had been left tied up and ignored, and had just yelled that.

All three of his brothers looked at him in confusion, as he continued, in a sharp voice. “Young and sweet, only seventeen! Glad I have your attention now! Can someone please fucking untie me!?”

It was silent, until Jason whispered “…Swear jar.” 

“REALLY?!” Dick shrieked, falling into the trap of argumentative siblings, as the three of them bickered at steadily rising volumes.

Tim stared at his siblings with interest and mild horror. What were they even arguing about? Didn’t exactly sound like it was about Dick’s questionable music taste, but Tim really didn’t care at that moment in time – because he was more focused on Bruce’s heavy footsteps approaching, which sounded exactly like his plan falling to pieces, again.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiiiiiiiiit. Okay, okay, quick – what was an idea?

A sudden memory of a comedy special filled Tim’s mind. John Mulaney’s friend in high school – don’t fail him now!

Tim dodged past his brothers to a row of glass display cases, and with a lack of keys to open it, he panicked and punched the glass. Which did nothing but crack it, and crack something in Tim’s wrist. Most likely a bone. 

Understandably, Tim yelled in pain, but in his desperate bit to recreate a John Mulaney moment, he took his grapple out, and shot at the glass, which finally shattered. He reached his good hand into the case, grabbed a bottle of some mysterious liquid that he didn’t recognise, and whirled around.

Dick, Jason, Damian, and Bruce were all looking at him in utter confusion, whilst Alfred looked on in disappointment and mild concern. Wait, when did Alfred get in here? No, there’s not time to think! Tim paused for a moment, before throwing the bottle onto the floor, shattering on the ground, and yelled “SCATTER!”

“Tim, did you just break your fucking hand?!” Dick asked in horror. 

“…and break the liquid fire we took from Scarecrow?” Jason asked, a wide smile on his face. 

“And told us to scatter? When Father and Pennyworth were clearly in the same room?” Damian continued, clearly doubting Tim’s intelligence. 

Tim stared at his family. His family stared back. 

“I might’ve done?” 

There was a shared, heavy sigh from Dick, Jason, and Bruce. “Okay, no, I will accept being grounded if you’re gonna do something like that.” Dick said. “I give in! I’ll sit down and – I don’t know – fucking study Russian or something.” 

Dick pivoted on one foot – ever the dramatic – and folded his arms. “Was this your plan? Were you and Tim working together? Was this some kind of sick bonding exercise?”

Bruce gave him an incredulous look. “What? You really think I’d want my own son to break his damn hand?” 

“I believe that Master Dick is simply a little worked up, Master Bruce.” Alfred said, his typically polite tone tinged heavily with sarcasm. 

Tim realised that his hand was really starting to ache now. “Uh, guys –”

Jason groaned loudly. “Can’t believe I’m saying this – but I agree with Dick. Not worth it if Tim is gonna –”

“Guys I don’t think Dick was exaggerating with saying I broke my hand?” Tim blurted out quickly. He let go of his hand, and it swung limply. Tim gagged slightly at the pain.

Damian buried his head in his hands. “Jesus fucking Christ. How are you this stupid?”

Safe to say, the swear jar became exactly twenty-two dollars richer that day.

About an hour later, Tim was back in civvies with his wrist in a cast – bright lime green, in order to punish him, because Damian was a dick and had insisted – and back in his room. The plan had been a resounding failure, through no fault of Tim’s. His plan would’ve worked flawlessly; only if his brothers hadn’t been cowards.

Tim sighed, and pulled out his phone. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to have tech, but he also had a broken wrist, and was grounded for six weeks instead of one, and honestly? Tim deserved this.

Instagram was dead, Twitter was raging over something which he didn’t care about, and Tumblr… 

He had over a hundred notifications again. He frowned, and opened up the app, and then was immediately assaulted by the sheer number of notes on one post. It was his new one, the famous ‘fruit salads’ quote. No one had drawn this one – it was just popular. 

Five thousand, three hundred, and sixty-nine notes. Nice.

Wait. Five – five thousand – 

He frantically checked the follower count. One thousand, eight hundred, and eleven followers. 

Tim dropped his phone in sheer disbelief. He, this – this was not the idea – how – 

Tim, almost robotically, reached back for his phone, and opened up his messages, and selected Conner’s name.

Tim: Babe, you’re not gonna fucking believe this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hinting at future JayRoy? In MY crack fic? It's more likely than you think
> 
> speaking of Jason, maybe he's onto something with Damian not getting jokes,,, 
> 
> Oh yeah, I now have a tumblr dedicated to dc specifically so come scream with me about these boys at itslovingconnerkenthours
> 
> Throw a comment and a kudos because I crave validation <3

**Author's Note:**

> If I may be so bold, may i ask for a kudos if you enjoyed?


End file.
